has in effect banished new comedy from the ftage. But to put the fame thought in a different light; when an unexpected fimilitude in two objects ftrikes the imagination; in other words, when a thing is wittily expreffed, all our pleasure turns into admiration of the artift, who had fancy enough to draw the picture. When a thing is humourously defcribed, our burft of laughter proceeds from a very different caufe; we compare the abfurdity of the character reprefented with our own, and triumph in our confcious fuperiority. No natural defect can be a cause of laughter, because it is a misfortune to which ourselves are liable; a defect of this kind changes the paffion into pity or horror; we only laugh at those inftances of moral absurdity, to which we are conscious we ourselves are not liable. inftance, fhould I defcribe a man as wanting his nose, there is no humour in this, as it is an accident to which human nature is fubject and may be any man's cafe but fhould I reprefent this man without his nofe as extremely curious in the choice of his fnuff-box, we here fee him guilty of an abfurdity, of which we imagine it impoffible for ourselves to be guilty, and therefore applaud our own good fenfe on the comparison. Thus then the pleasure we receive from wit turns on the admiration of another; that which we feel from humour centres in the admiration of ourselves. The poet, therefore, muft place the object he would have the subject of humour in a ftate of inferiority; in other words, the fubject of humour must be low.

For

The folemnity worn by many of our modern writers is, I fear, often the mafk of dulnefs; for certain it is, it feems to fit every author who pleases to put it on. By the complexion of many of our late publications, one might be apt to cry out with Cicero, Civem mehercule non pulo effe qui his temporibus ridere poffit. On my confcience, I believe we have

all

all forgot to laugh in thefe days. Such writers probably make no diftinction between what is praised and what is pleafing; between thofe commendations which the reader pays his own difcernment, and those which are the genuine refult of his fenfations. It were to be wifhed therefore that we no longer found pleasure with the inflated ftile that has for fome years been looked upon as fine writing, and which every young writer is now obliged to adopt, if he choofes to be read. We fhould now difpenfe with loaded epithet and dreffing up trifles with dignity. For to ufe an obvious inftance, it is not those who make the greatest noife with their wares in the ftreets that have moft to fell. Let us, inftead of writing finely, try to write naturally; not hunt after lofty expreffions to deliver mean ideas, nor be for ever gaping, when we only mean to deliver a whisper.

CHAP. XII.

Of the STAGE.

OUR Theatre has been generally confeffed to share in this general decline, though partaking of the fhew and decoration of the Italian opera with the propriety and declamation of French performance. The ftage alfo is more magnificent with us than any other in Europe, and the people in general fonder of theatrical entertainment. Yet ftill as our pleasures as well as more important concerns are generally managed by party; the ftage has felt its influence. The managers and all who efpouse their fide are for decoration and ornament; the critic, and all who have ftudied French decorum, are for regularity and declamation.

declamation. Thus it is almoft impoffible to please both parties; and the poet by attempting it finds himself often incapable of pleasing either. If he introduces ftage pomp, the critic configns his performance to the vulgar; if he indulges in recital and fimplicity, it is accused of infipidity or dry affectation.

From the nature therefore of our theatre and the genius of our country, it is extremely difficult for a dramatic poet to please his audience. But happy would he be were these the only difficulties he had to encounter; there are many other more dangerous combinations against the little wit of the age. Our poet's performance must undergo a procefs truly chymical before it is prefented to the public. It must be tried in the manager's fire, ftrained through a licenfer, fuffer from repeated corrections till it may be a mere caput mortuum when it arrives before the public.

The fuccefs however of pieces upon the ftage would be of little moment, did it not influence the fuccefs of the fame piece in the clofet. Nay I think it would be more for the interefts of virtue if ftage performances were read, not acted; made rather our companions in the cabinet than on the theatre. While we are readers every moral fentiment ftrikes us in all its beauty, but the love fcenes are frigid, tawdry, and disgusting. When we are fpectators all the perfuafives to vice receive an additional luftre. The love scene is aggravated, the obfcenity heightened, the best actors figure in the most debauched characters, while the parts of morality, as they are called, are thrown to fome mouthing machine, who puts even virtue out of countenance by his wretched imitation.

But whatever be the incentives to vice which are found at the theatre, public pleafures are generally lefs guilty than folitary ones. To make our folitary fatisfactions

tisfactions truly innocent the actor is useful, as by his means the poet's work makes its way from the ftage to the clofet, for all muft allow that the reader receives more benefit by perufing a well-written play than by feeing it acted.

But how is this rule inverted on our theatres at prefent? Old pieces are revived and fcarcely any new ones admitted; the actor is ever in our eye, and the poet feldom permitted to appear; the public are again obliged to ruminate over thofe hafhes of abfurdity, which were difgufting to our ancestors even in an age of ignorance; and the stage instead of serving the people, is made fubfervient to the interefts of avarice.

We feem to be pretty much in the fituation of travellers at a Scotch inn; vile entertainment is ferved up, complained of and fent down; up comes worfe and that alfo is changed, and every change makes our wretched cheer more unfavoury. What must be done? only fit down contented, cry up all that comes before us, and admire even the abfurdities of Shakspeare.

Let the reader fufpend his cenfure; I admire the beauties of this great father of our ftage as much as they deserve, but could wish for the honour of our country, and for his honour too, that many of his fcenes were forgotten. A man blind of one eye fhould always be painted in profile. Let the fpectator, who affifts at any of thefe new revived pieces, only afk himself whether he would approve fuch a performance if written by a modern poet; I fear he will find that much of his applaufe proceeds merely from the found of a name and an empty veneration for antiquity. In fact the revival of thofe pieces of forced humour, far-fetched conceit, and unnatural hyperbole, which have been afcribed to Shakspeare, is rather gibbetting than raifiing a ftatue to his memory; it is rather a trick of the actor, who thinks it fafeft

acting in exaggerated characters, and who by outftepping nature chooses to exhibit the ridiculous outré of an harlequin under the fanction of that venerable name.

What ftrange vamped comedies, farcical tragedies, or what fhall I call them, fpeaking pantomimes, have we not of late feen. No matter what the play may be, it is the actor who draws an audience. He throws life into all; all are in spirits and merry, in at one door and out at another; the fpectator in a fool's paradife knows not what all this means till the laft act concludes in matrimony. The piece pleases our critics because it talks old English; and it pleases the galleries because it has ribaldry. True taste or even common fenfe are out of the question.

But great art must be sometimes ufed before they can thus impofe upon the public. To this purpose a prologue written with fome fpirit generally precedes the piece, to inform us that it was compofed by Shakspeare, or old Ben, or fomebody elfe who took them for his model. A face of iron could not have the affurance to avow diflike; the theatre has its partizans who understand the force of combinations, trained up to vociferation, clapping of hands, and clattering of fticks; and though a man might have ftrength fufficient to overcome a lion in fingle combat, he may run the risk of being devoured by an army of ants.

I am not infenfible that third nights are disagreeable drawbacks upon the annual profits of the ftage; I am confident it is much more to the manager's advantage to furbish up all the lumber which the good fenfe of our ancestors but for his care had configned to oblivion; it is not with him therefore, but with the public I would expoftulate; they have a right to demand respect, and surely those newly-revived plays are no inftances of the manager's deference.